“And you’re left-handed,” Ella says when she sees me pick up the fork with my left hand.
“Does that mean anything?”
“Southpaws are harder for most orthodox fighters to match up against,” she explains.
“I guess I need to practice simming against a leftie,” Chieko says. “You were going to sneak that up on me?”
“Oh no. Sorry if I revealed a secret!” Ella exclaims.
I laugh, as does Chieko. “I still need to win,” I state. “Do either of you know about Honda?”
Chieko shakes her head. Ella says, “From what I’ve heard, he grew up in the Philippines and is one heckuva pilot. He used to be an enlisted soldier who drove tanks in Asia. He served with Kazu.”
“Who’s Kazu?”
Ella seems shocked. “He’s the best pilot in the junior class. He won the tournament two years ago and is captain of the Five Tigers.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You will. He was enlisted with Honda before he transferred here. He represented BEMA against Tokyo and was only the second fighter to beat one of their pilots. It was a big deal around here. I’ll introduce you tomorrow. If you join Nori in the Five Tigers, he’ll be your sempai. People will be expecting both of you to win your Tokyo matches this year too, so that’ll make it three years in a row.”
“We won last year too?” Chieko asks.
“Yep. Nori sealed the deal.”
So Honda is friends with the cadet considered the best fighter here and he has field experience? That’s good to know beforehand as the first three matches were relatively easy. I’ve only seen one of Honda’s fights. It was a relatively straightforward battle, and nothing caught my attention. I’ll watch the collected footage later tonight.
“If we get through tomorrow, we’re guaranteed the number-one and number-two spots,” Chieko says. “So don’t blow it.”
“I won’t,” I reply. “Have you heard from Nori?”
Chieko shakes her head. “You?”
“No.”
Ella takes a bite of her food, and says, “Things are going bad for the Nazis in South Africa. The African Resistance is fierce, and they’ve already taken back key territories. The Nazis really freaked out after their big Rommel statue got obliterated. They think anyone who isn’t one of their Aryan supermen is subhuman, so the string of defeats is a huge shock to them. Many in the USJ, including Nori and her parents, have been lobbying that we support them more.”
“With armed forces?”
She nods. “We’ve been providing supplies where we can. So far, it’s all unofficial, but that’s why the Nazis have been ‘accidentally’ harming our embassy workers. It’s despicable.”
“It’s our duty to rid the world of Nazis,” Chieko says. “My paternal grandparents were from Czechoslovakia. They had to flee when the Nazis took over. They had distant cousins in Seattle before it became Taiko City, so they were able to emigrate here and start a new life. But most of our relatives were sent to death camps and never heard from again.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ella says.
“So am I,” Chieko replies. “The Nazis took away my family, and then they worked with the NARA terrorists to kill my friends. I will do my best to destroy them.”
The ferocity in her eyes is blazing, and I think about people like Griselda, who are against Nazi rule but are also hated by our side for growing up there.
Ella looks at me, and asks, “What’s wrong?”
“My food smells like crap,” I answer. “Literally.”
That causes both of them to chuckle. “You want some of mine?”
“I’ll get snacks later.”
* * *
• • •
Ella heads home, and I go back to Chieko’s dorm. There, she turns on the display screen of her portical and puts up footage from the matches, focusing on Honda. Honda is a big guy with bushy eyebrows that are very animated as he fights. He moves around a lot, and his weapon of choice is a whip and dagger. I notice that he stays back for his fights, deflecting with a whip, then does a sudden charge move where he unleashes a flurry of blows using his dagger. I rewind so I can watch his rush attack.
“You’re seeing what I’m seeing?” Chieko asks.
“What are you seeing?”
“He takes exactly four steps before his dagger starts flying,” she says.
“Actually, I was just noticing how much his brows twitch right before he attacks.”
“Well, that too.”
I watch again, and she’s right. There are exactly four steps.
“Since you know that, now you have no excuse to lose,” Chieko tells me.
I nod gratefully.
“You going to be okay with Kujira?” I ask her as I’m about to leave.
Chieko acknowledges, “He’s good. But I’ll be fine. Just make sure you take care of Honda.”
* * *
• • •
I watch Honda’s fights again. It’s clear he’s a much better fighter than my previous three combatants. Plus he has tank experience. I’ve got to assume that he’s also watched my previous fights.
I get up, pace back and forth in my dorm room. Tomorrow will be the first time I get to pilot an actual bipedal mecha. I don’t know how many people will be watching, but I think back to my childhood, playing with the mecha toys my father crafted for me and the jimbaoris I’d dress them in. I’m still angry that my adoptive father forced me to sell all those toys to a neighbor for only a few yen after I moved in with them.
Save that anger for tomorrow, I tell myself.
I have a hard time sleeping.
* * *
• • •
In the morning, Chieko isn’t in her room, so I head to Emeryville without her. There’s a small café in the underground center where I eat a breakfast of garlic-flavored bacon, miso soup, and two rolls of cucumbers. The rolls don’t taste very good so I replace that with a curry croissant baked specially by a pastry chef from Shizuoka. I check the time. My fight is at three, so I have a few hours to practice.
I ride up the escalator into the stadium and am stunned. There must be over twenty thousand people present. Where did they all come from? Are they here to see Chieko and me fight? There are only our two matches scheduled for the day, and they’re not until later.
I spot a male cadet who resembles the portical footage I saw of Honda last night. He’s stout, taller than me by a few centimeters, and has those bushy brows. He’s holding a young girl in his arms who I assume to be his daughter. The woman next to him must be his wife and the small boy next to them, their son. They have their heads bowed in front of a shrine to the Emperor, and they’re praying to him for his blessing. I overhear his wife saying, “We’ve struggled so hard to get this opportunity. Please help us in our struggle and help my husband be victorious against his opponent today.”
Honda’s son opens his eyes, looks around, and peeks at me. I stare at him and swear it’s a reflection of me when I was younger. He smiles. I feel embarrassed because I’m the subject of their prayer and my objective is to defeat his father in combat today.
I’m ushered to the locker room by officials who get me into my gear, then to the Gladiator-class mecha. It looks exactly like my digital one, even down to the colors I selected. The crew checks the equipment and safety belt, making sure I feel comfortable in my seat. They run stress tests on my straps, confirm my helmet is secure and that I’m properly buffered in case of damage.
“Has anyone been seriously injured in one of these fights?” I ask.
“All the time,” is the reply I get.
Wonderful.
They make me try out each of the controls. I’m surprised they feel almost identical to the simulation. They’ve matched the weight and movement so that a minute in, my brain can’t distinguish between the two. On
ce the basic walk cycle is complete, they do a few more tests on the armor and my link to the cockpit. After diagnostics confirm everything is optimal, they give their approval for me to try it out on my own. I’m advised to monitor the gauges and make sure nothing gets out of sync.
The final four cadets will have the early part of the morning to test their mechas in partitioned pens adjacent to the main stadium. I get accustomed to using the electric sword, bandying it about in combat poses and making sure there isn’t anything I’m not prepared for.
They’ve given us “dummies,” big piles of metal we can attack to get used to striking with our weapons. The first time I hit one of the dummies, there’s a jolt to my arm, and I feel the reverberations all along my body. That experience was partly mimicked in the simulation, but nothing as strong as this. I do it multiple times to get accustomed to it. As we’re separated from one another, we can’t see what the others are practicing, but the audience can through the cameras in each pen. At first, I’m self-conscious about doing something wrong in front of thousands of people. But after a few minutes, I forget they’re even watching. Time passes quickly as I practice harder. We’re ordered to come out and eat lunch at noon. I spot Chieko, and she looks pale.
“You sleep well?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “That dinner gave me runs all night. My stomach still feels bad.”
“You should drink green tea. It always helps me when I get stomachaches.”
We find some and finish our lunch—light salads and a mixed fruit drink to provide energy. We’re asked to use the restroom, as we won’t get the chance to exit our mechas for the next few hours.
Once we’re back in our suits, we’re given a final chance to practice and go over the tutorials.
In the main stadium, they have BEMA’s marching band of two hundred students doing an elaborate show. It’s entertaining, as the groups weave in and out of complex human patterns that morph from animal to vehicle and back. Eighteen jet-packed cheerleaders fly through the air, making smoke trails and writing Japanese characters in the air. I wonder if more people are here for the band than for us.
A teenage girl from Berkeley High sings a beautiful rendition of the “Star Spangled Sun.” Shinto priests spread salt on the earthen battleground, an act of ritual purification borrowed decades ago from sumo wrestling.
For the final round, they bring in an Italian referee—whenever they want the semblance of neutrality, someone is brought in from the Regno d’Italia. It’s a formality because there’s not much the referee normally does other than enforce boundaries and call the match when it looks like one side might actually be in physical danger. They do possess the ability to deactivate either mecha for any reason. The ref is a portly gentlemen with a curled mustache who bows to the four of us. He then runs into the yellow referee mecha that is about eight meters taller than our own. He carries out an inspection of the field and another examination of our mechas to make sure all is fair. Once he deems us ready, Honda and I are asked to move into separate waiting areas.
Chieko and Kujira are up for the first half of the finals.
Kujira chooses a yari spear, unlike the electric sword he chose in the first three rounds. Is this to fend off Chieko’s style as she likes to get in close?
The bell rings, and the ref moves away from the center of the stadium. The crowds go wild, cheering loudly. Audience members pick sides, many chanting for Chieko.
From the beginning of the match, Kujira keeps a distance. Anytime Chieko tries to make a move, he wards her off. He tries to stab his spear her way, but she easily blocks, using her chains. She does try to wrest the spear away from him, but he counters with a twirl and a jab, using his subweapon, a type of tantō. The dagger unwinds the chain before it can fully grip. Just as she is about to recover, Kujira strikes. She has to step back, and he follows up with a spurt of thrusts so she is not able to get into her fighting comfort zone. It’s not a big leap to assume he’s aware of her tactics and that he’s been keeping tabs on her fighting style. I’m surprised that he noticed anything beyond his portical game.
Chieko’s trying to find an opening, and Kujira is focused on pushing her back. This continues for two minutes. Chieko’s face betrays her frustration, and she snarls with every spear attack. Kujira is chewing on a sausage, casually using his controls while eating. His seeming apathy is infuriating. I want to go down into the stadium and slap the hot dog out of his mouth.
That’s when I notice Chieko’s mecha is getting pushed toward the south end of the stadium, her back nearly against the wall. There’s almost nowhere for her to go. She tries to avoid being cornered, but anytime she does, Kujira attacks. His attack intensifies as he stabs faster. The spear thrusts increase. Chieko is able to defend herself because she’s so good with the chain. But it appears like he’s effectively wearing her down. Just when the match seems over, Chieko grabs the spear that’s about to stab her in the neck. She steps quickly forward and hurls the chain at Kujira’s arm. It wraps around his mecha’s elbow. She tugs hard, causing him to stumble forward. Chieko goes in for a killing move, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The sudden motion causes Kujira’s sausage to drop from his mouth.
The reversal causes the audience to cheer wildly. Chieko has the advantage.
But the joy is momentary, as Kujira turns around, back to the wall, and crashes against it. Chieko is pinned between the stadium and Kujira’s back. Kujira takes out his tantō and thrusts it into her wrist. In the close proximity, she is unable to avoid the dagger, and we hear the blade slash the wires that connect the wrist to the forearm. This causes the mecha’s fingers to go dead and she loses her grip on the chain. Chieko, weaponless, wraps her leg around his and tries to take them to the floor. Kujira almost falls. But he uses the pole end of his spear to strike Chieko’s knee. The patella plating snaps off, exposing wires and circuitry. He slices them with his dagger. Just as he’s about to go for the other leg, Chieko headbutts Kujira’s mecha. Glasgow’s kiss causes a huge crack in both their helmets. But the next attempt is blocked by an arm guard, and Kujira extracts himself with a forceful push. He stands above her, and Chieko is immobilized by the loss of her right leg. He points the spear at her neck, and asks, “Do you yield?”
“Never,” Chieko replies.
He’s about to stomp her face, but she raises her one good arm to catch his foot. She pushes, causing him to tumble back. She crawls toward the chain and hurtles it at Kujira’s mecha. Kujira rolls out of the way and lifts himself up. Chieko starts pulling at her broken arm until it detaches, then uses it as a crutch to stand up.
Kujira stands in front of her, and Chieko is holding up her subweapon, the wakizashi. She’ll fight him till their destruction makes the fight impossible. Kujira grins inside his cockpit. His mecha bows to hers. He then powers down his machine.
We hear the ref inquire, “What are you doing?”
“I’m out of sausages, and I’m starving,” Kujira answers.
“Get back inside and finish the match.”
“The match is done.”
“If you leave now, you forfeit.”
“Fine. Bye.”
Out on the stadium floor, we all see the tiny figure of Kujira emerge from his mecha and run toward the stands in search of something to eat.
* * *
• • •
I meet Chieko outside her locker room. I expect her to be dejected, but she’s very upbeat. “Damn, that was fun,” she says. “These bipedal mechas are a hundred times better to drive than the Crab tanks.”
“You’re not upset?”
“Why would I be? That was one helluva fight. Kujira has skills,” Chieko states. “C’mon,” she says, and leads me away from the locker.
We find Kujira next to a hot-dog stand, eating a turkey dog and drinking a Hokkaido Pearl Milk Tea. She raises up her fist. Kujira bumps it, but accidentally spills ketc
hup, relish, and mustard on himself.
“Good fight,” she says.
“You almost got me into a Nelson hold.”
“It would have been over for you if I had,” Chieko replies.
“I could have reversed you.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you know each other?” I ask them as I’ve never yet seen Kujira attend class.
Chieko shakes her head. “We just met out there. But I’ve never been in a fight like that. That was awesome.”
“Yeah, that was fun,” Kujira concedes.
“It’s your turn to fight,” Chieko reminds me.
“Who won?” I ask them, not sure since technically there was no victory.
Kujira shrugs. “Who cares?”
* * *
• • •
Although the official had threatened Kujira with a forfeiture, Judge Misato Hirono rules in his favor, and he will proceed to the finals. It’s up to me to meet him there.
Two officers are giving public commentary on our fight for audiences watching on porticals. I listen to them briefly but regret it when I hear them call Honda “the overwhelming favorite and the crowd’s choice.” There’s a moment when the footage cuts to Honda’s family, and they cheer him on. I presume the older couple talking for a bit on the display screen are his parents.
I am envious, wishing I had a family.
As I enter the stadium, I see the tens of thousands of people directly rather than through the portical display. Adrenaline rushes through me, and a smile involuntarily breaks out. I can’t see anyone specific in the crowd, but it doesn’t matter as I’ve never felt this much excitement. Although I hear a few people yell my name, the overwhelming majority are cheering for Honda.
I’m calmer than I expected to be. If this were the past, I would probably have been trembling. But I block it all out as I know this is for honor, not life and death. This’ll be a different kind of fight as I’m piloting an actual mecha versus the simulation. Plus, this is someone with a whole lot more experience than the cadets in the previous rounds. I know he has the support of the crowd and his family on his side. He’s fighting as much for them as he is for himself.
Mecha Samurai Empire Page 25
